The Fountain

Darren Aronofsky first gained notoriety in the film world through his movie Pi, a black and white excursion into the fine line between genius and madness, riddled with fascinating but largely unexplored Kabbalistic overtones. Later, his film Requiem For A Dream, though masterfully shot and lushly scored, seemed to lead us into an even deeper abyss, without even the scantest light at the end of the tunnel. I remember feeling the desperate need to shower after watching the film, (and scrub my insides with steel wool)- but was left with little more than the realization that it was an accurate portrayal of the shallow, beautiful horror that is the downward spiral of addiction.

His most recent film, The Fountain, which was in and out of production for several years and almost never made it onto the screen at all, is in my opinion by far his best to date. Partially as a result of these production issues, it was also made into a graphic novel as well, based off of the original script for the movie. The graphic novel, which I recently picked up at a comic convention, is a true work of art in its own right, with a sketchy and yet strangely painterly style that is uncommon and much called for in comics.

The Fountain deals with some of the most central issues we face as humans, the big ones: life, death, what is lost, and what remains. He does so in a visually stunning, deeply moving manner. Aronofsky’s background in myth and metaphor is as clearly apparent as most people’s complete lack of understanding in these areas. To begin with, from review to review, and even in the wikipedia entry (a source well known for its standard of infallibility), there is talk of this story taking place in three times, or of consisting of three plots: a Conquistador, set in the time of Spain’s conquests and search for glory, a scientist, dead-set upon saving his dying wife, and an astronaut or mystic, exploring a nebula referenced in the other “time-lines” as relating to the Mayan creation myth. These converging and diverging time-lines seem to confuse people, as they try to track how they might relate to one another, and try to wrap their heads around three different stories.

News flash: there is only one story here. This is encompassed within three narratives filled with symbolic devices, all of which exist primarily to enrich each other. It is constantly baffling to me what a hard time most people have with layered metaphors. At it’s most extreme, this literary problem results in holy wars. In this case, it just results in baffled critics. The through-line of a plot is most clearly expressed in the narrative of the scientist, as the other two, one above and one below, express emotional and spiritual elements of his futile quest to save what cannot be saved. For, as we learn through millenia of the worlds myths, from various derivations of the pagan “green man” to the Egyptian Osiris and even the more familiar Christian icons, there cannot be gain without loss, and it is not the flesh which remains. In many of these myths it is in fact the flesh which must be ultimately sacrificed to the spirit, which is to say to the rest of the universe so that more matter can come into being, in new forms. This is not unlike the Kabbalistic idea of permutation of symbol, energy, and form. (See: the Sefer Yetzirah.) All of these thoughts were almost undoubtedly in Aronofsky’s mind, in one form or another, when he gave birth to this story.

The true fountain of immortality is a bittersweet potion, as flesh feeds on flesh, life feeds on life. The pain and bliss of love are the same, and some of the overwhelming potency of love comes from it’s immediacy, which is also to say, its fragility and temporality. What remains is a seed, a kernel, which floats willy-nilly from one place to the next. It is irrelevant what time period these characters exist in, as ultimately they are all merely devices for expressing and exploring those ideas which otherwise cannot be explored, cannot be expressed. As with Requiem For A Dream, The Fountain is oftentimes a dark meditation, but here at the end there is a form of redemption, and many insights into what truly matters, as we all make this journey from one shore to the next.

As such, The Fountain takes its place as a work of stunning visual poetry, and should be enjoyed as such. I’ve watched it twice so far, and was rewarded with fresh insights with each viewing. I’ll leave seeking out those delicious secrets to you. Happy hunting.

--James Curcio.